walking on a canvas like a oleander frame
by freezinginbristol
Summary: When she looks at him, it's like tangible magic spilling across their canvas of vision. Alfred isn't sure if he likes it or not. [Nyotalia] [Fem!England] [Implied FACE Family]


**I DO NOT OWN HETALIA:AXIS POWERS**

It's quieter, he notes, even as they step out of the mirror and into the new room. Soft sunlight moving through large windows, catching and distilling their rays onto the living room floor through the light, white curtains that shifted slightly in the breeze from the few windows that were open outside. England casts a glance at his son (the word seemed strange in this context) whose eyes are surveying the situation in a way that could only be described as curiosity with growing confusion.

"And you want me to...?" America trails off, moving carefully along the room, eyes scanning along the assortments of paintings and various objects before his eyes land on a large picture on the right side. The woman has red hair and looks older, with a pale face and wearing a large dress with a stiff, pointing collar. One hand rests on a globe of the world.

"Be yourself." England says simply from where he had remained. America hums, moving from the picture of Queen Elizabeth to sink down slowly on the grey couch.

"What version?" Alfred asks softly, more to himself than his father, and ignores the slight frown on his parent's face at the statement. His gaze has settled to the low coffee table, arranged with a vase of white flowers in a even whiter substance. His hand reaches out despite himself, finger barely brushing the soft petals before a voice speaks out that makes him nearly jump at the... _familiarity_ of its sound.

"White Oleander."

America's eyes lift from the plant, scanning along the floor and across the room to meet green eyes and-

 _Oh._

Green eyes that stain his childhood, yes, for one, but in the wrong space and the wrong time and the wrong body. She's tall, pale, and about the same height as his father with a similar walk as she moves across the room, adjusting curtains, but her gaze never really seems to leave him. There's something in the way she moves that almost hypnotizes him, like a sort of royal or leader that he couldn't contend with even if he tried, something like art on canvas painting. Long blond hair that catches on the sunlight that oddly enough his ties back in two pigtails, though it doesn't distract from her incriminating gaze. For a moment, her eyes catch the light a reflection of deep green with flexes of brown below the surface, and he's suddenly mesmerized by how absolutely _beautiful_ she is.

America wonders if she can see right into him with eyes like that.

He doesn't really notice his father entering the room, with the assortment of tea and placing it on the coffee table, before casting a quick glance at the woman whose lips barely quirk upwards without even meeting England's gaze. He moves out to some unseen part of the house and it's just the two of them. She leans back against the wall, arms folded lightly across the material of her black, long sleeved shirt.

"Do you like them?"

"I-what?" he stammers and she only blinks.

"My flowers." she repeats, voice cool.

"Wha-oh. Yeah. Yes. Yes. They're, um, really white," he manages to get out, blue eyes still staring at her with something of absolute fascination and (he knows she knows) apprehension.

"Am I making you nervous?" Alice asks, head cocking slightly as she notes him biting the inside of his cheek and fingers beginning to play with the sleeves of his own shirt from where he sat on her couch. "Alfred."

He actually flinches at that before shaking his head and dear god this was way too trippy for him to actually comprehend and how she was England but not but at the same time she actually was. He jumps at the hand suddenly on his shoulder, before she sinks down next to him, green eyes scanning his face. There's something about her, he can feel that much, underneath the surface like a constant humming of something old and deep in her veins that he didn't know what to do with.

She was too much for him to actually comprehend.

"My name is Alice, by the way. If your father didn't tell you already."

He manages a slight smile at that. "Hi. I'm sorry. I'm being ridiculous-

She cuts him off with a smile and he's stunned for a moment at the sight of it. "It's quite alright, this is all new for you I'm sure."

Alfred gives a snort of amusement. "Yeah, well, the idea of there being a different version of the Britain I'm used to is a bit of a shock, not to say that I don't want to meet you, I mean we're already meeting and stuff but still I-" he cuts off, partially out of his own self imposed rambling and with her gaze becoming something more of a study, one hand drumming against her leg.

"I'd like to try something." she says. "If that's alright with you."

He shrugs. "Sure. I mean, as long as I don't get another lecture from Iggy about "polite behavior", then go ahead. What are you going to-"

"Your head. I just want to take a little look inside. Don't worry, I won't go peeking into anything that you don't want me to."

He hesitates (of course) but something in the back of his brain makes him nod in acquiesce. Alice's hands come up, fingertips pressing lightly against his temples as her eyes close and the words come out softly.

"Relax and stay still."

He watches her eyes move underneath her eyelids before something almost buzzes in the back of his brain and he can practically feel the humming that came from her enter into his body before it's gone it what seemed like an instant.

He's left decidedly empty in the aftereffect.

Alice opens her eyes, giving him a smile, before both look up to the sight of his father leaning against the doorway. "You didn't even touch the tea." he notes calmly to Alice, who gives him a raised eyebrow.

"Goodness, can you think of nothing else, Arthur?" Alice responds, standing up and moving back to the other side of the coffee table. America shifts, standing as well with his eyes not knowing quite where to look. England smiles slightly, before speaking to his son. "Did you and Alice find some common ground?"

He looks at Alice with the question in his hands before speaking. "Yeah. Yeah I think so. It was nice. Like your flowers."

Alice nods in agreement, eyes still studying him even as they moved back towards the mirror. "Bye, Alice." America says, and she can feel the pang in her gut of how something so bright and wonderful and golden as him couldn't have been hers instead.

"Goodbye, Alfred."

* * *

"Well?"

"Well what?"

"You know what." His father presses, gaze set on the road ahead of them as they drove. America's finger traces along the glass, following the pattern of rain streaking down the surface. There is silence for a few moments, before he speaks, words hesitant.

"Pale. And beautiful. Like a picture in a museum."

He smiles again.

 _Like her flowers._

* * *

 **This turned out better than I thought it would.**

 **I enjoy writing more sentimental and thoughtful America than from what the show portrays him, and also the idea that he would be very much thrown off kilter by meeting someone like Alice, who is like his father is every single way, and yet she isn't. Do you think I should do one with Marianne (Fem!France) and Canada? Let me know in comments! :)**

 **READ AND REVIEW!**


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